


The One Where Gerard's An Amateur Wizard Whose Potions Never Turn Out Exactly Right

by wicked



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anal Sex, Bandom Big Bang 2013, Blowjobs, Community: bandombigbang, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sexual Content, slight non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wicked/pseuds/wicked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard is a wizard (without a wand because he's not THAT kind of wizard) whose potions never turn out as anything other than failures. He can never seem to concentrate in class, doesn't finish assignments, can't follow directions for potions and is incapable of discerning flirtations. Mikey is a potions prodigy who is always cleaning up Gerard's mess.</p><p>Besides failing at potions, Gerard likes to spend his time in a local coffee shop, where he meets the new barista, Frank, who keeps offering him free coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where Gerard's An Amateur Wizard Whose Potions Never Turn Out Exactly Right

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Bandom Big Bang Wave 3 2013! 
> 
> I was so beyond lucky to receive an amazing mix by adashofcyanide and two BEAUTIFUL pieces of art from apparentopposite!!  
> I can't thank either of them enough for their amazing contribution!! They really captured the story and the characters and I'm still not done fangirling over them!! 
> 
> Once again, thank you both so very very much!! 
> 
> And a very special thank you to my beta, Dalyne - she put up with a lot of ranting, several nervous breakdowns and an almost not-post! I couldn't have done it without her!

 

[ **Grab the mix!** ](http://adashofcyanide.livejournal.com/958.html)

[ **Flail over the art!** ](http://apparentopposite.dreamwidth.org/1767.html)

**Part I **

 

The real problem is that Gerard has some tendencies; tendencies, which often lead to disasters of varying degrees of ruin for those in his general vicinity.

 

            Gerard has trouble keeping his focus where it’s supposed to be, which is usually on some ancient volume of potions and the droning voice of his tutor who just doesn’t do the lessons justice in Gerard’s opinion. Magic is supposed to be fun and experimental and well, magical, at least that’s what his grandmother had always taught him. Ever since her passing, and the assignment of their new Professor, Gerard is finding it more and more difficult to keep his attention where it’s supposed to be.

 

            Gerard and his brother, Mikey, are the fifth generation of “wizards” in their family, their mother and grandmother having told each of the boys on their sixth birthdays, entering their rooms at midnight to announce, “Surprise! You have magic in your blood, but you don’t get a badass wand, so instead, enjoy this pewter cauldron. Happy Birthday! Also, don’t tell people because it tends to freak them out, and we could do without the unwanted attention.” Of course, Gerard knows that there had been other vital information imparted at the time, or at least shortly following, but he tends to stick with his own version of events when retelling the story.

 

            Mikey had taken immediately to the subject, brewing up his first (and also perfect) potion a mere twenty-four hours after being _officially_ told he could, (despite having been expressly forbade to tell his brother, Gerard had not lasted until bedtime before spilling about their heritage) much to their mothers delight. Gerard had yet to achieve such a feat, despite repeated assurances that he would come into his own; he couldn’t stop the conviction that success would come if he could take classes other than potions. He’s utterly convinced that something like Defense Against the Dark Arts would far better suit his abilities, maybe even Transfiguration; he could totally get down with transforming things into something else with the flick of his wrist and a handful of horribly mangled words. (His mother and Elena have tried re-iterating countless times, that those “classes” are “purely fictional, Gerard,” and “hardly useful”. He’s still not sure they’re being honest with him.)

 

 

            Sparing a glance over at his brother Gerard can’t help the small snort of amusement; Mikey is completely enthralled, or at least _Gerard_ knows he is, despite the look of utter boredom as he stirs a dark green liquid within his cauldron. Mikey, even three years Gerard’s junior, has been an unequivocal natural when it comes to potions, whipping them up with an ease that Gerard can’t seem to master no matter how hard he tries. If Mikey was anyone but his brother Gerard might actually bother with some jealousy, as it is Mikey spends most of his time helping Gerard remedy his most recent disasters, which doesn’t often leave a lot of room for complaint.

 

             It wouldn’t be so bad really if Gerard wasn’t dealing with **_Magical Potions_** on a daily basis and occasionally setting loose said potions on unsuspecting victims, which seemed to be happening on a too frequent basis as far as the youngest Way was concerned.

 

            Still, Gerard knows that being able to stir up potions, even if he’s not particularly successful at them, has it uses. Donna was practically famous in the New Jersey/New York area because of her line of hair care and beauty products (all “handmade”), she had made a name for herself despite her father’s arguments regarding her choice of a husband. Marrying a “muggle”, though calling non-magical people that was really more of a joke than a real term, was frowned on in some circles; Donna’s father hadn’t thought too much of Don, changing his outright disapproval only at his wife, Elena’s, insistence – she always swore, “the best magic is love”. Gerard appreciates the sentiment, and he loves his grandma more than almost anyone he knows, but he can’t help wondering if perhaps he got more of his father’s genes, that maybe the magic had skipped him completely. Mikey scowls pretty hard whenever Gerard brings the thought up aloud so he usually keeps his ponderings quiet or reserved to when he’s feeling depressed enough that Mikey allows him his morose thoughts.

 

            Despite his floundering, Gerard’s been assured that as soon as he gets his license he will have a place on the Order’s youth council; Gerard knows that they’ve had their eyes set on Mikey for a while now, even if he completely denies any and all contact with a roll of his eyes, and if they have to take Gerard to ensure Mikey accepts, they will. Still, Gerard thinks it’ll be pretty badass to tell people that he’s a member of the _Ordo Sapientiae_ , even if his place was only held because of his last name and his potions prodigy of a little brother who’d rather spend his free time in the local music store listening to obscure British Punk and flirting with the girl at the counter with the nose piercing and the illegal tattoos.

 

\-------------------------

 

            Professor Perez, their potions master, or “Professor” as he insists Gerard remember is his title, is currently trolling through the storage room off the right of their “dungeon” classroom, no doubt contemplating ways of torturing Gerard and ensuring he never gets his license. Gerard realizes the irony of hating his potions master, and he would vehemently deny it should someone ever comment, but, he finds a sort of perverse pleasure in the parallel with Harry. Mikey usually scoffs when Gerard tries to goad him into the reasoning that Snape, despite having been proven as one of the “good guys” in the end, _had_ hated Harry; Gerard sees no reason the same couldn’t hold true for his own situation.

 

 

            Gerard’s absently sketching out a vampire on the corner of his remedial potions book, chin propped up by a fist as his pencil scratches across the grainy paper, contemplating the newest panels of the comic he’d been working on last night when Mikey saunters over to his brothers bench.

 

            “Have you even started on your potion?” Gerard smirks up at his brother for a moment, eyes twinkling.

 

            “I forgot.” Mikey looks down at the tattered book, eyes rolling as he takes in the title of the assigned potion.

 

            “Really Gee? You _forgot_ to make your forgetfulness potion?” Gerard smiles wider, barely suppressing a giggle at his brother’s exasperation.

 

            Mikey’s still trawling the list of ingredients, after having pulled Gerard’s book closer to himself, plucking bottles off the shelf beside the table and arranging them in order before heaving the cauldron closer; staring pointedly between the book and the assembled necessities he moves back to his own table to continue with his masterpiece of a potion. Puffing out a sigh to express his dismay and overall disdain for the assignment and the class in general, Gerard pulls a bottle towards himself, pouring its contents into the cauldron with the most put-upon expression he can muster.

 

            It’s while he’s idly using the eye dropper to add in a putrid green substance, mesmerized by the clinging droplets, momentarily suspended before plummeting to their ultimate death, that what started as delightful puffs of greyish vapor quickly turn into an actual fog swirling around Gerard and his table, cloying and oppressive.

 

            “Gerard!” Its Professor Perez, who had apparently emerged from the closet in just the nick of time, as per usual; Gerard can’t actually see him or Mikey, but he recognizes the tone of voice, the exasperation with a twinge of actual anger. He imagines he can see Mikey’s eye roll before he’s coughing beneath the fumes, which continue to climb up towards the ceiling, heavy enough that it’s impeding his ability to breathe properly.

 

            He hacks a couple more times, trying to cover his mouth and nose with his sleeve while waving at the pugnacious fog with his free arm as though he could forge his way through it with just the will of his mind or his fearsome glare.

 

            “Mikey?” He’s still swiping in a pathetic attempt to clear the way when he hears an answering, “polo” and a snicker. Fucking Mikey.

 

            There’s a sudden light illuminating the fog, clearing the way around the classroom enough to see the open door and hallway where Mikey waits with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, arm outstretched to wave the flashlight at Gerard’s face. It’s with a real reluctance that Gerard stumbles his way towards his brother, hip crashing into a desk and some shelving units, glass bottles clattering noisily as he scowls at the floor until he’s standing before the scuffed tops of Mikey’s Converse.

 

            “Nice work asshole.” Gerard deep his scowl in response, despite Mikey’s twinkling eyes, contemplating digging his elbow into his brothers ribs in retaliation, a notion that’s squashed when Perez steps into view, arms crossed and eyebrows drawn so tightly together they appear as one.

 

            “Mr. Way.” There’s no question which brother is being addressed; Gerard attempts to school his features into something resembling innocence or at least apology. “How many drops of water from the Passaic River did you feel it necessary to add?” His tone is quiet, controlled, and Gerard can’t help the instinctively nervous swallow, before his own textbook is being thrust beneath his nose. “Had you paid any sort of attention to the instructions, how many drops _should_ you have added Mr. Way?” Covertly dropping his gaze to the opened pages, his cheeks flush with color.

 

            “Two.” He instinctively hitches his shoulders towards his ears as though preparing for a blow, though it never comes, only the exasperated sigh of repeated lectures.

 

            “If you would just apply yourself…” Perez trails off with a shake of his head, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’re done for the day. I need to air this out, we can’t continue in this fog.” He’s turned his back, engulfed in the grey cloud again as the brothers Way stare at their sneakers as though they’d both been chastised, instead of just one.

           

            “Sorry Gee…I should have stayed…I could have helped with the potion, mine was done already…” Mikey sounds as apologetic as he ever gets, which unless you know him just sounds like a softer version of his monotone; Gerard shakes his head at the offer.

 

            “No Mikey, he’s right.” He tries to smile but it comes out all wrong, twisted and sad. “I **_want_** to be good at potions but the truth is that I’m just not… I don’t think I’m really cut out for them.” He can see the little frown forming on Mikey’s face, pulling his features together and down just the slightest bit.

 

            “You just need some inspiration.” At Gerard’s look of skepticism Mikey continues with a roll of his eyes. “If you put half the effort or concentration you use for your art into your potions you’d be fine.” It’s Mikey’s turn to offer up a sad smile. “Sometimes I think you like failing…”

 

            Gerard doesn’t know what to say to console his brother, doesn’t know how to argue with an idea he’s been trying to discern himself so he just wraps his arm around Mikey’s bony shoulders, face buried in his neck as Gerard puffs out a few breathes until Mikey’s arms squeeze around Gerard’s back. They remain standing in the hallway for what feels like a long time.

 

            “Maybe you just need to get laid,” Mikey murmurs against the rough fabric of Gerard’s sweater. “Your potions couldn’t get worse, right?” Gerard can feel Mikey’s smirk against his shoulder and he can’t hold back his own chuckle because, seriously.

****

****

** Part II **

 

            It isn’t that Gerard’s upset, per say, but the need to get out of the house, away from everything was pressing on his chest in a constrictive way, making it hard to breath until he marches across the street, the scrawled lettering of the sign lifting a bit of the tension, even as his shoulder bag bounces off the back of his legs. It’s lessening again as he stumbles through the door of the coffee shop and waits at the end of the line, gnawing on his bottom lip while reading the posted options. His feet carry him forwards as each customer before him requests and receives their order, the familiarity and warmth of the shop soothing him in a way that nowhere else seems able to until he’s pressed up against the counter, fingers splayed across the granite top.

 

            The barista has their back to Gerard, wobbling their way up a step ladder to grab clean mugs from a precarious stack on the third shelf and Gerard actually worries that something’s going to fall and smash with the way the kid is clutching too many ceramic cups against his chest as he makes his way down the two steps.

 

            Gerard barely has enough time to realize the boy’s feet have reached level ground before he’s being blasted with a blinding smile, all bright white teeth and flashing lip ring, eyes wide and green and eager and it’s suddenly Gerard who feels unbalanced, wavering and gripping harder to the counter like he might actually overbalance in the wake of the boys enthusiasm.

 

            “What can I get you dude?” The boy never seems to close his lips, despite his question, smile still perfectly intact as he continues to stare.

 

            “Uh…just a coffee. Black.” The too big smile expands still more somehow as the barista begins to ring up his order, fingers hesitating on the keys as he finally lowers his stare to inspect the register.

 

            “Um…hold on one second, I totally know where this one is…” Gerard’s not even sure if the kid is talking to him, mumbling his way through the options on the keys, teeth pulling on his lip ring and Gerard finds his attention wavering to notice the perfect arch of the boys eyebrows, the pink tinge blossoming on his cheekbones, the way the light seems to brighten his skin instead of washing it out, the letters that adorn the knuckles of his fingers, forming a word he takes a moment to decipher; Halloween. His fingers flex towards the sketchbook resting inside his bag, suddenly desperate.

 

            “Aha!” The exclamation brings Gerard back to the coffee shop and the boy smiling cheerfully before him again. “That’ll be one seventy five; I gave you my discount!” At Gerard’s eyebrow quirk he explains, “For the wait. It’s my first day.” And Gerard can physically feel the way his cheeks are heating up because no one’s ever given him an employee discount, certainly not on **_coffee_** and the boy’s still smiling at him, all teeth and apology, and Gerard tumbles out his change, eyes averted to his fumbling fingers and the green splashes in the granite, that he definitely isn’t comparing to the green of the barista’s eyes.

 

            He mumbles thanks as he protectively wraps his hands around the warm cup of coffee, already inhaling the scent as he turns his back to the counter, eyes searching for an empty booth as the youth chirps, “Anytime!”  

 

            Settling himself in the corner of a booth is familiar enough that he wrangles his sketchbook and pencils out of his bag while balancing his coffee mug and sliding across the worn out seats until his back is pressed against the cushion. He pulls his knees up to poise his book, already flipping through to a clean page, pencil primed as he takes a sip of his coffee.

 

           

            He’s just finishing the shadow of a tree when he feels breath ghosting across his neck, startling him enough that he almost skates the pencil across the page. The giggle that follows has him lifting his eyes to meet those perfect eyebrows again.

 

            “Sorry dude, I didn’t mean to scare you.” The laugh is stifled but there’s a smirk in its place, sending Gerard’s heart into overdrive as he shakes his head. “I just wanted to see if you wanted a refill?” Gerard’s face must convey something that his brain hasn’t bothered transmitting to his mouth because the boy continues, “Free of charge!” And Gerard seriously thinks he might be falling in love because he’s been coming to this coffee shop for three years and he’s never gotten a free refill.

 

            “That would be great.” The boy winks, trotting back to the counter with Gerard’s empty cup and Gerard would vehemently deny that he noticed the way the dark blue jeans sat low on the kids hips, showing just a sliver of pale skin between his black t-shirt as he stretches over the counter for the coffee, or the way the tears and rips show off knobby knee caps when he returns, except that he totally noticed.

 

            He sets the mug back on the table, expecting the kid to retreat back to his counter, already grabbing for his sketchbook once more only to realize it’s not on the table where it was only seconds before; confusion sets in for a moment until he looks across the table at his new companion who’s pulled the book towards himself.

 

            “You’re really good!” It isn’t the first time Gerard’s heard the commendation, but it’s usually coming from Mikey or his mom, and his cheeks flush once again. As though he suddenly remembers himself, the boy pushes the book back towards its owner with a small frown, tattooed fingers folding tightly over one another. “Sorry dude, I didn’t mean to embarrass you or anything, I just saw it over your shoulder before and you’ve been sitting in here for hours and I was curious, right? And then when I came over I saw you were drawing and it was really awesome but I couldn’t really see the whole thing.” He breaks his ramble for a second to scrutinize Gerard before thrusting his hand across the table. “I’m Frank.”

 

            Gerard feels like he missed something important but his hand is stretching across to loosely wrap his fingers around the proffered introduction without his permission.

 

            “Gerard.” The smile that’s thrown at him is intense in the best way possible.

 

 

            It’s several hours later when Gerard dumps himself onto his bed, feeling pleasantly over-caffeinated and slightly dazed, lips still pulled into a smile that he can’t seem to get rid of.

 

            He lies still for a few moments, basking in his own glee, despite the fact that he’s almost positive he’s reading into Frank’s lavish offering of smiles and the stolen touches that he knows meant more to him than the barista. Still, he allows himself another minute, carefully timed, before he gets up with every intent on finishing (starting) a paper that’s due tomorrow; he wonders if Perez would even believe he had done it if it was turned in on time, a thought which leads him over to his stereo, fingers flicking idly through his CD’s, before extracting his choice.

 

            The guitars and drums filter through the overused speakers, his head nodding to the beat even as his hips join in, fingers itching to play a rhythm he can’t seem to master, despite it’s simplicity. He hums his way through the first bars, allowing the music to buoy the leftover emotions from the coffee shop.

            “I was made for lovin’ you baby, you were made for lovin’ me!” Sweeping his hand across the landscape of his bedroom, he pulls his fist up to his mouth to continue, “And I can’t get enough of you baby, can you get enough of me?” he jumps onto the bed pressing his “microphone” free hand down his chest, hips gyrating to the beat that plays for only him.

 

            “Tonight, I wanna see it in your eyes, feel the magic, there’s something that drives me wild, and tonight we’re gonna make it all come true, cause _boy_ , you were made for me, and _boy_ I was made for you!” A moment is spared to head bang his way through the drums before he’s jumping back to the carpeted floor to strike a pose and a huff of breath from his dance excursions.

 

            “I think the lyric you were mutilating was actually ‘girl’,” Mikey drawls from the doorway, hip leaning into the wood as he folds his skinny arms across his chest with a smirk.

 

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gerard avoids his brothers’ gaze, fingers self consciously pulling through the hair hanging in front of his eyes before finding themselves on his hips as he stands, cocking one out to the side in his most defiant (and also favourite) stance. ‘I will **not** tell.’ He reminds himself as he lifts his chin.

 

            Mikey continues to stare, looking for all the world disinterested; Gerard can feel the scrutiny in his brothers look, a tiny bead of sweat forms above his lip as he tries to refrain from bursting with his news. Mikey raises his left eyebrow minutely.

 

            “His name’s Frank!” Gerard flails momentarily before flopping back onto his bed, body bouncing slightly with the force of his momentum. “He’s the new barista and he gave me FREE coffee, Mikey! FREE! And he brought it to me, and he liked my drawings and he said I was really talented and he has tattoos and a pierced nose and lip!” Gerard’s arms are waving around, a danger for anyone who doesn’t know him; Mikey leans slightly to the right to avoid a particularly perilous floundering.

 

            “You are talented, he’d be stupid not to notice.” Gerard barely registers his brothers’ compliment, picturing Frank as he’d examined Gerard’s work. “And?” Mikey’s smirking minutely, which Gerard knows means he’s intrigued and also curious, and perhaps plotting. An elevated eyebrow discloses Gerard’s confusion at Mikey’s question. “What are you going to do about it Gee?”

 

            “Do about it?” Gerard leans up on his elbows, head tilted to the side, looking for all the world like the cocker spaniel they’d had as children, bewilderment evident; Mikey tries not to roll his eyes, without success.

 

            “Are you going to ask him out? Go see him again? Get his number?”

 

\------------------------

 

            Gerard finds himself pushing open the door of the coffee shop without having really decided to leave the house. He doesn’t even know if Frank will be working, and if anyone comments he’ll outright lie about specifically picking out his worn misfits t-shirt as a conversation starter. The smudged eyeliner is totally a by-product of last night and not something that he artfully spent more than ten minutes perfecting this morning after showering, much to Mikey’s gleeful delight.

 

            There’s barely a line at all and Gerard spends the wait on his tiptoes to see around the other customers to the counter where the lack of dark hair leaves him with a frown when he finally gets up to the blonde barista that’s smiling politely and asking what he’d like to order. He briefly considers leaving before scolding himself; he came for coffee and he’s not leaving without it, even if the barista is tall and blonde and definitely **not** Frank. Not that Gerard was expecting anything.

 

            He’s still pouting a bit as he makes his way to his booth, angry scribbles and scenes making their way onto the off-white paper until his mug is empty. He looks longingly, once more, towards the counter, trying to discourage the small flutter in his chest. The blonde server is still alone at the counter, serving coffee and pastries to a group of teenage girls, all giggles and red lipstick, and it’s enough to convince Gerard that it’s time to head home and actually get started on the essay that’s already two days overdue.

 

            He gathers up his sketchbook and pencils and he wishes he had something he could stuff angrily into his bag, indifferent to its welfare, just to stave off some of the disappointment.

 

            “Gerard?” He looks up from rummaging up his headphones to see Frank standing in front of him, smiling just as brightly as yesterday, and he can’t help his own answering smile from pulling at his lips.

 

            “Frank. Hey.” If his voice sounds a bit breathier than normal, Frank doesn’t comment or seem to notice.

 

            “Are you leaving?” Gerard’s sure he’s projecting because Frank sounds upset to his ears. He shakes his head immediately in answer though, bringing all of Frank’s teeth back into prominent view. “Good! What can I get you then?” At Gerard’s eyebrow quirk he continues, “I’m just starting, but I’ll bring it over for you.” And Gerard once again can’t stop himself from grinning, because Frank is going to **_deliver_** Gerard’s coffee and that might be the best proposal he’s heard, ever, Frank and coffee. His essay’s already two days late, one more won’t make a difference to an already failing grade he reasons as he settles back into the cushions of his booth.

 

            Frank returns with a steaming mug in a matter of seconds, speed-walking to Gerard, teeth on display once again, apron twisting around his knees and one corner of his tee-shirt riding up over his hip bones, exposing a sliver of skin that Gerard relishes until Frank places the mug down, momentarily distracting him. When he looks back Frank has readjusted his uniform, all skin but that of his arms and knees concealed once again.

 

            The staring continues for a few moments more before Gerard coughs awkwardly, ruining what he’s sure was a “moment”, until Frank giggles, tattooed fingers combing his hair out of his eyes.

 

            “I should get back to the counter…” The stain of red on Frank’s cheeks makes Gerard pause long enough in consideration of whether the weather or the air temperature within the café had caused such a reaction, that Frank starts backing away uncertainly.

 

            “Oh! Yeah, ok. Thanks for the coffee!” Gerard sputters out seeing the younger man’s disconcerted look and backwards shifting. Frank smiles warmly again at the gratitude before turning back towards the front of the store.

 

            Gerard idly stares at the table before him for a few moments, wondering whether it’s worth his effort to continue work on his latest panel or if he ought to start something new. He’s distracted from his dilemma with the shattering of breaking mugs and the shout of “Opa!” He turns in his booth to see Frank with his arms outstretched above his head, several pieces of ceramic scattered beneath his feet, red staining his cheeks once again as a few customers and his fellow barista begin clapping.

 

            Frank’s eyes sheepishly meet his own across the café, the blush deepening at Gerard’s smirk of amusement; averting his eyes Frank grabs the broom and dustpan from beneath the counter and sets to the task of sweeping up the shattered mess. Gerard, however, can’t seem to turn away his own eyes, the sight of Frank, on his knees, even if he is sweeping, is burning before his retinas, his imagination swirling with possibilities, and now it’s his own cheeks flushing.

 

            Supposing his luck had run its course for the day, Gerard gathers up his unpacked items, slotting them back into his bag before grabbing his emptied mug. Standing, he contemplates for a moment leaving the mug on his table to be picked up later, after he’s left, considers abandoning the chance to speak to Frank again today, wonders whether he’s capable of holding a conversation after the images that had live-streamed just moments before.

 

            He’s saved the chance of making a decision.

 

            “Are you leaving?” Gerard starts at the sound of Frank’s voice, familiar enough after only two meetings to recognize.

 

            “Oh, um, yeah…I’ve gotta head home.” Frank nods like he understands, brow furrowing slightly; Gerard hastens to add, “I, uh, I’ll be back tomorrow though…are you working?” That smile is back, shining in the late afternoon dim.

 

            “I start at one.” Gerard returns the smile, elated and eager for tomorrow.

           

\-------------------------

 

            The dip in his mattress is momentary, the kick off to another day rife with scowls and disappointed sighs, and Gerard’s already planning his afternoon escape to the coffee shop when his brother clears his throat obtrusively, thin frame crumpling into the mattress, arm outstretched half on top of his older sibling. Gerard’s groan is muffled against his pillow but he’s sure Mikey understands.

 

            Mikey, who is usually as despondent as he is in the mornings, is hitting him, somewhat insistently, with a small pile of papers; burrowing further into his blankets is doing nothing to ward him off.

 

            “Here asswipe,” Mikey hits his brother one more time before dumping the small stack beside Gerard’s head. “I finished this for you last night.”

 

            Gerard unearths himself from his blanket burrito, peaking at the documents beside him. His essay. Flipping quickly through it, he can see that Mikey not only finished it, he started it; he wrote the entire thing.

 

            “Mikey…” Gerard’s speechless. Mikey’s already waving it away like it’s nothing; perhaps it is by now, it’s certainly not the first time Mikey’s saved Gerard’s ass, completed one of his assignments or potions, whispered him the answer during an exam or test. He may be the younger brother but with the way he’s always protecting Gerard, salvaging everything his older brother destroys, Gerard’s sure that their roles have been reversed for far too long.

 

            Still, he takes the papers carefully in hand, placing the packet delicately on his nightstand before standing from his bed to grab some clothes from the floor of his closet where he knows their marginally clean.

 

            “Thanks Mikey, you didn’t have to do that you know? You should let me take the fall for my own shit sometimes.” Mikey sighs morosely as though Gerard’s thanks physically pains him.

 

            “It’s not a big deal Gee,” Mikey’s pulling himself off the bed now, kicking idly at a dark pile of clothes. “I made a bunch of mistakes so Perez wouldn’t know.” Gerard can feel his lips lifting up in a smile that’s too big, aiming it at Mikey’s retreating back.

 

            Checking the clock quickly, Gerard grabs the essay off his table, before heading towards their classroom. Mikey’s already sitting at his desk, cauldron out and ready to be used to make perfection no doubt; Gerard tosses the essay onto Perez’s desk and then pulls his own chair closer to his brother, simultaneously grabbing his own cauldron, though the possibility of perfection is much further off.

 

            Perez walks into the classroom then, ready to start another lesson, picks up Gerard’s assignment, a look of surprise evident on his face as he skims through.

 

            “Gerard, only two days late…I’m impressed.” Gerard nods quickly before returning his attention to the scored wood before him.

 

            “Did you read it?” At the shake of Gerard’s head, Mikey continues his whisper. “I may have added a bit about how you saw yourself similar to Dr. Doom, ‘cause of your potential stemming from your heritage, and how you both get screwed over somehow, despite your good intentions.” Smirking, Mikey opens his textbook to the assigned page as though he hadn’t just been whispering through Perez’s entire instructions.

 

\------------------------

 

            Gerard walks into the coffee house like relief, calm and liberated from everything he holds in his chest when he’s at home, like nothing he’s ever known except when he’s got a clean piece of paper in front of him and a pencil in his hand. His eyes automatically search behind the counter for the familiar head of dark hair, the bright green eyes, the too white teeth.

 

            And then he’s at the counter, like he’d never really left and Frank’s handing him his coffee with another too intense smile and instead of saying something witty or charming he smiles with his own too small teeth and scurries to the booth he’s commandeered as his own to pull out his newest essay assignment; he’s promised both himself, and Mikey, that he’ll be completing this one, on his own and on time. It’s a lofty goal but he’s feeling pretty secure in his little booth with his black coffee and Frank, just a couple of feet away.

 

            He knows he spends too much time staring at Frank over at his counter, doling out coffee and cakes, to really be considered polite or unobtrusive but he can’t seem to help himself. It’s his little indulgence.

 

            Sighing, he pulls out a notebook and his photocopied notes (read: Mikey’s notes), prepared to start outlining his essay. He figures it shouldn’t be terribly difficult, he had even managed to make a somewhat recognizable version of the potion earlier in the week and Perez had said almost nothing negative about it, no doubt as surprised as Gerard himself.

 

            He’s got an outline and a completely incomprehensible thesis ready when Frank throws himself into the cushions across from Gerard with an audible groan; even without it Gerard is aware that he would have known.

 

            “My feet are killing me dude.” Gerard wants to offer up a foot massage, can imagine taking Frank’s legs into his own lap to work out the kinks, perhaps moving up his legs and then persuading the barista to take him up on a full body massage. His face must show something because Frank’s titling his head in question and Gerard’s cheeks instantly flame up. “Sorry man, you just looked pretty focused, I wanted to see what you were up to.” At that Frank actually takes a moment to look down at the papers before his counterpart, frowning as he tries to read upside down. “What are you taking dude? Cooking?” Gerard realizes with a start that Mikey’s notes contain ingredients and measurements as he quickly swipes them beneath his blank pages, crossing his arms overtop of them as though to prevent Frank from scooping them up.

 

            “Uh, yeah…cooking.” Frank nods like Gerard admitting that he’s in school to become some sort of chef is a completely plausible answer.

 

            “Cool. I’ll grab you a refill.” And then he’s running towards the counter, refilling the mug and trotting it back to Gerard who sits dumbfounded during the entire exchange, accepting the mug with a grateful sip when it’s offered back to him, and then Frank’s heading back to his counter with a salute and a wink, and Gerard returns to his essay.

 

           

            Gerard’s aware that he’s gone through several cups of coffee, can feel it in the twitching under his skin, but time seems irrelevant; his essay is almost completely finished, though the quality of what’s written is under question. He catches sight of Frank moving towards the back room out of the corner of his eye – he seems perpetually aware of Frank at all times, even when he’s diligently focused on something else. Frank returns to the room with a broom, bucket and a mop.

 

            “Hey, we’re closing up…” Gerard looks around the café, only to notice for the first time that he really is the only patron left; he can feel his cheeks flame slightly at the realization that he’s probably been holding Frank up.

 

            “Oh God, I’m so sorry Frank! You should have kicked me out! I’ll just grab my stuff and get out of here.” Frank smirks; shaking his own head at the way Gerard is hastily shoving all his papers into his bag.

 

            “It’s cool dude. You can hang around if you want, there’s no rush. I’ve just gotta clean this shit hole up.” He starts filling the bucket up as he explains this, dumping a large helping of soap in to accompany it.

 

            “I could stay and help!” Gerard’s offering his assistance before he really has a chance to think; he hates cleaning, he’s awful at it and he hates it. Frank’s blinding smile makes him momentarily forget that fact as he rushes forwards to grab the broom.

 

            They work in silence for a few moments until Frank mumbles something Gerard doesn’t catch and ducks behind the counter. The music that pours through the speakers is vastly different from the gloomy jazz that’s filtered it’s way through the room on every visit Gerard’s ever had. Frank pops back into view, already bobbing his head to the music.

 

            “Please tell me that you love Black Flag?” His voice is desperate and Gerard knows, innately, that this is a test; for once he’s not nervous about his performance. His lips split into a smile as he nods his head quickly. “They don’t let me play this while customers are here, say it’s ‘bad for business’ or something fucking lame.”

 

            They bounce around the room, putting too much enthusiasm into such a mundane task, but Gerard’s sure he’s never had so much fun doing anything remotely close to cleaning. He thinks if Frank was always involved with cleaning, he might be more inclined to participate. Gerard’s pulling the broom towards his mouth, prepared to lip-sync the chorus when there’s a crash from across the room, closely followed by a groan.

 

            It’s as though he’s filled with that spike of adrenaline that people always claim to receive during emergency or life threatening situations, the kind that allow you to lift a car or carry a person out of a burning building; he dashes around the room, skidding across the wet floor to see Frank sprawled, covered head to toe in soap and soaked through. He tries to stop so that he can ask Frank if he’s alright but his feet continue propelling him forwards. His arms swing out to the sides in the hopes of stopping the momentum, even as he’s aware that there’s no hope.

 

            He slides, painfully, into Frank, prompting another groan from both boys as they collide. It takes Gerard a second to realize just how close he is to Frank; chest to chest, legs tangled together, and their faces certainly not far enough away to be called polite. He can smell the coffee and mint on Frank’s breath, all too aware that Frank can smell his breath as well, can feel all of him, a realization that he lets himself entertain as a possibility of a kiss for two seconds before he’s scrambling off the younger boy, sliding away on his hands and knees, with the knowledge that he’s imagining the look of surprised sadness that leaks into Frank’s features as he shouts “I have to go!”

 

            He scrambles as quickly as possible back to his booth to collect his bag before he’s banging out of the coffee shop with another shouted “I’ll see you later! Bye!” to Frank’s prone body. 

 

 

 

            “Mikey! Mikey!” Gerard huffs up the stairs to the kitchen, pausing on the landing to wheeze before continuing down the hallway to burst through the doorway, face red, chest heaving; Mikey barely raises his head at the intrusion, eyes barely visible beneath the fringe of his hair as he sits upon the counter, drinking what appears to be freshly made coffee. Gerard barrels on as though Mikey had shown true interest, offering a much-needed run down of the events that had transpired at the coffee shop, hands fluttering and cheeks flushing as the memory of the whole ordeal replays itself through his words.

 

            The younger Way raises a dark eyebrow, slightly concerned and a lot confused, even as he hands his brother a mug of the delicious brew. “And?”

 

            “Well, it’s just his eyes, and his smile, ya know? And the way he always refills my coffee and never charges me for it!” Gerard can feel the tingling urge in his fingers, the need to fling them around his head, spilling coffee all over the kitchen floor. He valiantly resists. Mikey rolls his eyes at his brother.

 

            “You’re such a dumb ass sometimes.” Gerard offers a frown of his own over the lip of his cup. “He obviously likes you, just ask him out.” Mikey looks as exasperated as he ever really gets but Gerard’s had the expression pointed in his direction enough times to recognize it.

 

            “I can’t just ask him out Mikey! It’s fucking complicated or something.” Mikey’s rolling his eyes, Gerard just knows, even with his back to his older brother as he refills his mug before moving to leave the kitchen.

 

            “Well, then I guess you have two choices; you can either do nothing and stop complaining about it to me, or you can grow a pair and do fucking something!” He exits with another shake of his head; even as Gerard can hear his mumbled curses trail down the hallway.

 

            Leaning against the counter, Gerard contemplates his brothers ultimatum between sips of his coffee. As he takes the final gulp he makes his decision. He’ll simply stop going to the coffee shop, surely the feelings will also disappear, and then he can continue barely scraping by in potions. Anything sounds better than the rejection that’s sure to accompany any attempt to date Frank, hot, tattooed barista.

 

            With his newly made decision, he leaves his empty mug on the counter for his mother to clean and heads towards his own bedroom for the night.

 

            Sliding his hand along the bannister, he descends the stairs, eye catching on the wooden door of the dungeon, even as an idea sparks itself into imagination. He holds his breath, foot poised above the next stair, as though that might too hold the idea, letting it seep into realization, into reality. When he can’t hold the air any longer, he exhales in a whoosh, lips pulling up into a small smile.

 

 

**\-----------------------------**

 

            Gerard has never actually focused so diligently on a potion before, reading and rereading the ingredients and ensuring they’re all on the table before he even looks at the instructions and then it’s the same thing; careful examination before slowing adding each element, stirring the correct amount of times until he’s absolutely sure that no one has ever taken such utter care to create a potion before. He belatedly wishes someone, Mikey or even Perez, could take notice because he deserves an award or at least an A.

 

            Maintaining his admirable concentration, he ladles some of the potion into an empty carafe, stoppering it before setting it on his bedside and clearing away the mess of ingredients and the cauldron itself in the dungeon, which if he were thinking clearly is probably only serving in making him look more suspicious because although he spends inordinate amounts of time experimenting (and failing) with new potions, he never, ever cleans up after himself; Mikey is the cleaner of the Way brothers and that’s hardly saying much as he usually offers a feeble sweep of a cloth before his efforts are exhausted.

 

            He’s humming before he can stop himself, giving a final sweep of the floor and a little twirl in the general direction of the door, fumbling only slightly on a rogue chair leg before righting himself and replacing the broom; with some ill placed jazz hands and a shimmy he’s in the hallway, facing down a dour looking Mikey Way.

 

            “What the hell are you doing?” Mikey’s voice is flat but Gerard can hear the suspicious accusation in the question, his ears well versed in the many tones of Mikey Way. A blush creeps across his too pale cheeks and Gerard’s thankful he already placed his secret potion in his room.

 

            “Doing?” He feigns innocence, widening his eyes and fluttering his eyelashes too much, making himself dizzy, which only makes Mikey scowl harder at his brother, distrust amplified.

 

            “What were you making?” Gerard shakes his head treading carefully, as he averts to his eyes to hide the lie.

 

            “Not making anything. Just cleaning.” Mikey’s eyebrows are creeping into his carefully disheveled hairline as Gerard smiles with all of his too tiny teeth, swallowing hard before giggling as fingers wave a little too enthusiastically, and bolting back up the stone stairs to his room.

 

            “I hope you don’t plan on using whatever potion you made! I don’t want to have to bury any bodies!” Mikey yells at his brothers retreating back.

 

            Reaching his room, Gerard leans back against his locked door, hitting his head a few times in annoyance before making his way across the room to his bedside table, fingering the bottle with a small smile of accomplishment sneaking across his lips.

 

\-------------------------------

 

            It’s with a sort of renewed purpose, a confidence that is so very unlike him, that Gerard makes his way into the coffee shop, eyes already searching out Frank, even though he knows the smaller boys work schedule by now.

 

            There aren’t many customers and it doesn’t take long before Gerard finds himself at the counter, Frank smiling just as widely as normal before him. He opens his mouth to ask his question, to declare the details of their date with so much wit and charm that Frank will instantly proclaim his own love and tell Gerard his little potion will be absolutely unnecessary. His fingers press into the green granite, words poised on his tongue.

 

            “Coffee.” Frank sort of chuckles, brows raised in humor before passing over the already filled mug; Gerard’s cheeks flame violently.

 

            “Are you craving that bad man?” Gerard drops his eyes to the counter in humiliation as he passes over the change, grabbing his mug and shuffling his way to his booth as quickly as possible.

 

            “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” He mutters into his mug as he pulls out his sketchbook, intending to at least draw something until his coffee is done, at which point he will return home to potentially kill himself.

 

            Frank appears after about thirty minutes, ready to refill Gerard’s cup. Still feeling embarrassed, Gerard covers the top with his palm, barely looking up from the table, even at Frank’s softly uttered ‘oh’, disappointment clear in his voice. Gerard watches the scuffed Converse shoes retreat from the booth while gritting his teeth.     

 

            Another thirty minutes pass while Gerard idly doodles a scene; he’s fighting off a horde of brain-hungry zombies in the middle of the street, and if the figure looking out the top window of the adjacent apartment looks like a short, dark haired barista, Gerard will deny it vehemently. Frank appears again, shifting from foot to foot with hesitance before he throws himself into the booth across from Gerard, pressing the coffee carafe into the table with more force than is probably advisable.

 

            “Alright dude, what’s going on?” The smaller boy’s crossed his arms across his chest, eyes narrowed and lips pressed together.

 

            Gerard hates confrontation, avoids it at all costs; shrinking into the cheap leather he prays to simply disappear, wonders if he remains unresponsive will Frank be forced to give up this attempt at communication. Frank frowns harder, huffing as he leans back into his own booth, defiance evident in the lines of his body and stubborn as Gerard is he knows when he’s going to lose a fight (which is almost always).

 

            “I wanted to ask you over to my place on Friday for movies because we always only see each other here and I thought it might be sort of cool or something, and that’s something friends do right? I mean, if it’s not something you think you’d be into, that’s totally fine. I just thought I’d ask, but no pressure!” His face is flaming again, he can feel it licking down his neck and up into his ears, but Frank grins.

 

            “Sounds awesome! I’ll be there at 8?” Gerard nods mutely. “Cool. Text me your address.” And then he’s bouncing back towards the counter with a salute at Gerard in parting.

 

            Sinking back against the leather again Gerard can’t help the little grin that fights its way onto his face.

 

 

** Part III **

 

            Gerard idly wonders if it’s considered a date if only one of the people involved is aware of the intent as he tries to artfully arrange his pillows, stepping back to scrutinize the effect before fluffing them again as he sweeps his gaze around his room, his frown intensifying as he realizes belatedly that pushing the wayward piles of clothing and books and comics and art supplies into semi-organized piles doesn’t actually qualify as cleaning his room and that perhaps he should have taken more time to properly clean.

 

            He’s pulled from thoughts of throwing the pile of almost clean clothes into the closet by the doorbell. He dashes up the stairs, hoping to get to the door before Mikey. He rounds the last corner with a huff to find Frank grinning at him from the hallway, standing beside his smirking brother, and Gerard’s sure that Mikey has some extra superpower of just _knowing_ when someone’s about to knock on the door and materializing out of nowhere to answer it before Gerard can.

 

            He puffs out a welcome, feeling his stomach clenching at the sight of Frank’s tight jeans and Misfits t-shirt, the way his dark hair falls haphazardly into his eyes in a way that Gerard’s actually sure is natural, not at all the way Mikey will spend an hour on his hair in the mornings to achieve what doesn’t appear so very different from what it looked like when he got out of bed.

 

            Frank’s smirking at Gerard when Mikey disappears without having spoken at all, and then Gerard’s leading them down the stairs to his room, eyes flitting nervously to the trap door before finding Frank’s face in the minimal light. Frank’s still smirking, eyes twinkling with something that makes Gerard’s insides squirm before he’s scrambling for the remote of the television, hand gesturing towards the DVD’s stacked beside the screen.

 

            “Uh…you can pick anything you want. I have drinks and snacks…” He feels like punching himself in the face but Frank just grins wider and moves to scan the titles, leaving Gerard a moment to himself to calm his erratic heartbeat. While Frank’s still examining his options, nodding his head and humming, Gerard turns to the plastic cups on his dresser.

 

            “You want a drink?” Frank peers quickly over his shoulder with a smile before nodding his ascent, fingers deftly pulling his selection from the pile, while Gerard begins filling the cups; 2 parts vodka, 1 part warm coke. He momentarily contemplates the small glass vial in his drawer, dismissing the idea almost immediately; he wants Frank to be comfortable and he worries that dosing him early on might seem too sudden.

 

            With a confidence he practically conjures up from thin air, (he thinks perhaps there really is magic in his blood) he hands Frank his cup before settling onto the bed with his back against the headboard as he waits for Frank to take his place beside him.

 

            Frank’s practically buzzing as he leans against the pillows on Gerard’s bed, unable to keep his eyes on the screen for longer than a few moments before stealthily glancing at Gerard who seems completely captivated by the movie; Frank can’t even remember what he chose. He averts his eyes back to the movie with the final gulp of his drink, urging his brain to pay attention, to engage in the clichéd dialogue, the terrible effects, the tactless female costume choices.

 

            Gerard can feel Frank fidgeting beside him, shifting his weight and cracking his neck but he keeps his eyes intent on the screen, coaching himself on discipline and restraint, oblivious to the gory action in front of his eyes. He’s talking himself through a list of reasons to keep his hands to himself again when Franks arm brushes against his own, startling him out of his daze. When the credits start rolling moments later Gerard pulls himself away from Frank’s warmth to grab both their empty cups.

 

            “I’ll refill, you pick another.” Gerard thinks he must have imagined the look of disappointment that flitted across Frank’s face when he’d gotten up, a figment of his masochistic imagination, because it’s gone by the time he blinks, replaced by that too big smile as Frank slides off the end of the bed.

 

            Gerard watches until he’s sure that Frank’s attention is wholly focused on the DVD’s beneath his fingers before carefully sliding open his dresser drawer, groping around to find the small bottle filled with his lovingly made potion. He pulls the cork stopper out, and pours the pearly liquid into Frank’s cup after only a half a second of contemplation before turning back to the bed, his whole body thrumming with anticipation.

 

            Gerard isn’t sure how long it’s supposed to take before the effects begin, isn’t sure what to expect even, whether it’ll be instantly evident or whether Frank will even act any different. He probably should have done a bit more reading before feeding this to the boy he’s started falling in love with.

 

            Resolute, Gerard turns back to the movie, handing Frank his drink without a word, eyes fixed on the screen before him instead of the quirk of Frank’s eyebrows at the strange change in behavior. Swiping his sweating palms against the thighs of his jeans, Gerard tries to breath evenly through his nose, Gerard settles as comfortably as possible into the pillows behind him.

 

            Frank takes a large gulp of the drink, confused about Gerard’s mood swing; he’s hung out with the guy a couple of times now and while he’s a bit weird Frank has a feeling that something’s going on that Gerard’s not telling him. Still, Gerard has a right to keep whatever secret he’s hiding away, he barely knows Frank, so the younger boy settles himself into the plushness of the bed as well, reminding himself to focus on the movie and not some stupid fantasy. He takes another mouthful to help.

 

            It’s moments later that Frank feels like his feet and hands are falling asleep, tingling in that strange painful way that has him clenching the muscles in confusion. He’s not uncomfortable or cutting off circulation, and yet the prickling remains, moving up his arms and legs, prickling and itching. He frowns at his hands, shaking them out slightly, even as it moves into his torso. His tongue feels slightly numb in his mouth, dry and swollen. His whole body is pulsing, bones vibrating against muscle, blood boiling in his veins, skin stretched tight. He wants, _needs_ , to touch, to be touched or he’s going to die, he’s sure of it now.

 

            Flicking his eyes to the right he catches Gerard staring outright at him, cheeks flushing at the discovery and it’s enough of an invitation for Frank, hands reaching for Gerard’s shoulders before the he’s even fully pulled himself into the older boys lap, hips grinding down to make contact.

 

            “Frank? What the fuck?” Gerard’s eyes are wide, fingers push-pulling like he can’t decide what to do with the tattooed boy grinding shamelessly in his lap, head thrown back.

 

            “Ugh…Gerard…please…I need to. I need you.” Frank moans like it’s torn out of him, eyes bright and manic in the semi-darkness and he’s staring like he doesn’t know how his fingers ended up tearing their way into Gerard’s jeans, frantic and clumsy as they pull the zip and then Frank has, impossibly, gotten his whole hand down the front of Gerard’s pants like some sort of sex ninja.

 

            “Oh fuck…Frank.” Gerard feebly tries to back away from the hand on his hip as the other wraps around his cock. “Frank. Please. Frank.” Gerard doesn’t know if he’s begging to stop or move faster but he can’t help the drawn out moan at the first jerk. “Oh god…”

 

            Fingers twine themselves into Frank’s dark hair, twisting and curling, and Gerard wants to stop, wants to back off because as good as those slender fingers feel wrapped around him, gliding slowly up and down, this isn’t right; there’s a small voice in the back of his head yelling at him to stop, to get Mikey because this isn’t how tonight was supposed to go, despite the way it’s fulfilling every single one of his late-night fantasies.

 

            Opening his eyes enough to stare at Frank, he tries to get his brain functioning at a high enough level for coherent speech, only to catch the way the boy slinks off of the bed and drops heavily to his knees without so much as a grimace, letting out this fucking gorgeous moan, loud and thick, and then his hot wet mouth is on Gerard’s dick and there’s absolutely no way he can think anything beyond ‘fuck yes!’ because Frank’s going down, down, too far, gagging and not stopping.

 

            Gerard can feel Frank’s throat fluttering around him, slick and constricting in the best way possible, breath puffing against Gerard’s sweat slicked skin as both hands curl hard into the flesh of Gerard’s hips, pulling the older boy in tighter. Gerard can’t help the thoughts that are screaming that this is the hottest thing that he’s ever seen, certainly, that’s ever happened to him, that he should most definitely put a stop to it, but Frank looks so destroyed down there on his knees for Gerard, desperate and messy and gorgeous.

 

            He can’t help the rock of his hips at the sight, almost biting off his own tongue at the filthy moan from Frank who’s looking up at him through his eyelashes, all big eyes and spit slick lips and there’s no holding back. He wraps his long fingers into the hollows of Frank’s cheeks, tilting the boys face up and thrusts, chasing the vulgar moan that practically ends Gerard, vibrating through his bones as Frank just opens up and takes it like there’s no where else he’d rather be, like he’s the one who’s been offered a gift.

 

            Gerard’s eyes are fluttering, head thrown back as he pants at the ceiling of his bedroom, hips jerking convulsively because he’s got maybe a handful of seconds left with the way Frank is dragging his tongue along the underside of Gerard’s cock on every thrust.

 

            “Fuck. Frank…close. Fuck.” He’s barely spat his warning when Frank’s lips seal tight around him, eyes big and bright and hungry and Gerard’s orgasm hits him like a fucking freight train leaving him trembling in its wake.

 

            When he feels capable of breathing again, he flickers open his eyes to catch the tail end of Frank jerking himself off with his jeans and boxers stretched tight around his thighs, tattooed lettering a blur as his hand grips and pulls. Gerard watches him tip over the edge, eyes clamped shut and lips parted in a silent scream as his whole body quakes with the aftershocks.

 

            The softly uttered “fuck” that slips past Gerard’s lips is reverent and shocked as he stares at the half naked boy still kneeling between his legs, head dropped as he mewls and gasps still and there’s no stopping as Gerard’s fingers skate the silky expanse of Frank’s dark hair, strands curling around his fingers until Frank lifts his head of his own volition.

 

            Gerard expects a blush or even complete avoidance (his own preferred method of dealing with any, and all, embarrassing situations) so the dark glint to Frank’s eyes as he pulls his jeans and underwear the rest of the way off, tossing them over the side of the bed is surprising, to say the least. His hands stroking up Gerard’s thighs is unexpected enough that the older boy doesn’t move or say anything, just stares back. Frank’s fingers are still kneading the flesh of Gerard’s upper thighs, intent and travelling higher with every couple strokes, sending a shiver through both boys.  

 

            “Frank…shit…Frank.” Gerard bites at his bottom lip, eyes clenched shut against the feel of tattooed fingers dragging up his thighs, as though not seeing them makes it not real; the fingers keep curling upwards, and then they’re pressing against the inside of his thighs, too close and not nearly close enough. He shuffles around on the bed; awkward and hesitant, eyes still closed tight, breath wheezing through his nose.

 

            “Can I?” Frank’s hands still themselves as he looks up for permission, as if he honestly doesn’t know the answer, as if he needs it. “Please Gerard. Tell me I can.” He sounds desperate, eyes too bright in the semi-darkness of the room; warm breath tickling the sparse hairs on Gerard’s legs and despite knowing how very, _very_ wrong it is Gerard is nodding his agreement.

 

            Frank’s hands are back in motion, pulling Gerard’s legs even further apart, gripping the backs of his knees to propel them into the older boys chest who barely has time to gasp as he’s pushed completely onto his back, muscles protesting his cramped position and then there’s lips on virgin skin.

 

            Frank’s lips. On his ass. Biting and licking and kissing and Gerard’s certain that he’s dying, or perhaps he’s already died. He really didn’t think Hell would be so fucking awesome.

 

            Frank’s just going at it, fingers still gripped tightly against Gerard’s trembling thighs, nails digging in this side of painful, tongue lapping and pressing and swiping, and then he’s moaning into the flesh of Gerard’s ass, the vibrations delicious and sinfully delightful; Gerard can feel his dick taking an interest in the proceedings again as Frank licks a long stripe over Gerard’s balls, sending a shiver through him.

 

            “You want my tongue in your ass Gee?” Gerard doesn’t even try to stop the groan that pours its way through him at Frank’s wrecked voice, before he’s pushing hot and insistent against Gerard’s sensitive skin, nerves in hyper-drive, and Gerard can feel Frank curling his tongue, face and teeth mashed into his skin and he’s so close, can feel the tension building in the pit of his stomach. Frank’s slowly easing back like he can tell, teasing with one final swipe of his too hot tongue before he’s right in Gerard’s space again, lips and cheeks shiny with spit and the hottest thing Gerard’s ever seen.

 

            “You’re hard again.” Franks fingers wrap themselves around the older boys cock in confirmation, smiling manically, eyes unfocused as he pushes at Gerard’s chest to haul himself overtop, straddling the older boys hips, face hovering dangerously close as he whispers, “What I really need, is for you to fuck me.” Gerard chokes at the admission while Frank presses closer to nose at Gerard’s ear before adding, “Now” as if Gerard was just waiting for the clarification to get started.

 

Frank is squirming in Gerard’s lap, tiny little undulations that bring his ass in contact with Gerard’s dick, like he just can’t stay still, like he can’t help it. “Can you do that Gee? For me?” His voice is too breathy, desperate and destroyed and perfect and Gerard almost swallows his own tongue when Frank sits up enough to shove three fingers into his own mouth, sucking obscenely around them before reaching behind himself, head thrown back with a moan that vibrates through Gerard’s bones.

 

            “Shit…” Gerard can’t help watching the way Frank’s still sort of twitching in his lap, hips jerking against the fingers that are working him open. “Frankie…” Gerard can feel desperation bubbling to the surface, riding a wave of guilt and disgust at his own arousal, because this shit is _so_ wrong! Frank was clearly out of control, something had gone wrong with the potion and Gerard was taking advantage by playing along, even if Frank was begging him to.

 

            He tried to wiggle out from beneath Frank, keeping his eyes carefully averted from the boys glistening chest and his beautiful face and his fingers sliding in and out of view; he needed to get upstairs, to Mikey who would know what to do, would know how to fix this.

 

            He’s intent enough on his mission that he doesn’t notice Frank has stopped working himself open, leaning forwards until his too-warm chest is pressed flat against Gerard’s, lips inches away, eyes bright and almost focused in a way that disorients the older boy momentarily.

 

            “I can’t wait to have your cock filling me up.” Frank’s gaze burns through him, too hot, and Gerard feels like he’s gagging on it. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. So hot.” And then Frank’s got his freaky sex-ninja fingers wrapped around Gerard’s dick again, all manic smiles and too many teeth and an excess of lube that appeared from out of nowhere.

 

            It feels like everything’s moving in slow motion and still too fast for Gerard to react. Frank pushes himself up onto his knees, lines himself up and then starts to just sink down onto Gerard’s cock; he’s tight, tighter than Gerard allowed himself to imagine, late at night, and the expression on his face said it hurt, but it was the best kind of hurt, the kind that also promised to feel amazing. Gerard’s sure that Frank’s too far-gone to stop anyways.

 

            Frank’s head lolls back, mouth falling open obscenely as his eyes flutter shut, grinding down and working Gerard deeper inside; Gerard can’t stop his own gaping at the sight. It’s too much. Frank’s so hot it’s burning Gerard up inside, and as Frank bottoms out, legs tense and trembling, he groans.

 

            “Are you okay?” Gerard has to ask, needs to make sure that the too tight heat is as good for Frank as it is for him; he’s just barely restraining himself from shoving his hips up.

 

            Frank rolls his head around on his neck like he’s too tired, or blissed out, to lift it and hold it upright on his own, to stare down his nose at Gerard. He frowns momentarily like he’s not sure what’s happening or whom he’s seeing, and then he sort of whimpers.

           

            “Oh god…more. I need more.” He rocks down against Gerard, shifting and twisting in the older boy’s lap before he finds the angle he was looking for with a groan. Gerard’s breath catches as Frank pushes himself up, sinks back down, and repeats. Frank’s really going for it now, riding Gerard hard, completely shameless, gorgeous and Gerard’s can’t stop himself from thrusting his own hips up, matching Frank’s rhythm.

 

            Gerard’s not being gentle, pulling at Frank’s hips and the sound he makes is almost a sob, hopeless and needy, and then Gerard’s wrapping his fingers around Frank’s cock, jerking him to the offbeat of his thrusts, leaving Frank moaning and cursing incoherently; Gerard speeds up when Frank’s breath starts catching, tattooed fingers gripping into the flesh of Gerard’s chest, ragged nails ripping little crescents out of pale skin, and then Frank’s coming with another helpless noise. Frank completely tenses when his orgasm crashes into him, and it’s just too much for Gerard, too hot and tight, leaving Gerard to tumble over the crest with Frank, shaking and gasping for air as Frank slumps forwards against Gerard, chest to sweat slicked chest.

 

            It’s a few blissed out minutes before Gerard feels conscious enough to notice anything beyond his own thudding heartbeat and panting breathes, before he realizes Frank’s got his elbow or perhaps a knee grinding hard into Gerard’s thigh. He’s just about to offer up a complaint, chewing on the idea of squirming away from the offending appendage, when a soft sob echoes through the room.

 

            “Frankie?” He keeps his voice quiet, like he’s talking to a frightened animal, pulling his fingers lightly through Frank’s hair, eyebrows pulling together in concern. Gerard’s guilt returns full force as Frank tries to burrow further into his chest, another pitiful whine blowing against the older boys skin. Pursing his lips Gerard drags his fingers to the back of Frank’s neck, trying to urge the boy to lift his head; he can’t even imagine how embarrassed Frank feels, compiling comforting sentences in his head even as Frank begins lifting his eyes away from Gerard’s skin.

 

            There are tears just starting to break over the edge of Frank’s eyes, glistening momentarily on his pink cheeks before tumbling their way down the rest of his face; Gerard’s heart breaks at the sight. With as much tenderness as he can muster, he pulls out, grimacing at the feel of his own cum slipping out with him, cursing himself for letting any of this happen. There’s regret sliding up his spine, tingling its way into his consciousness like poison; he’s a monster.

 

            “I’m so sorry Frank…” His voice is barely above a whisper in the dark room, cautious and worried. Frank’s answering whimper sounds pained.

 

            “Gerard…I’m still hard. What’s going on?!” Gerard wants to tell the truth, can feel it sitting on the tip of his tongue, urging him to divulge it. He clamps his lips together, holding it inside, hiding it away.

 

            “I dunno…Frankie, just stay here, I’ll be right back, ok?” Frank lifts his head, surprise and hurt evident in his eyes.

 

            “Where are you going? Stay here!” Gerard’s up, off the bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants, eyes carefully averted from the wounded look scorching its way into his skin.

 

            “I’ll be right back, I promise.” He keeps his eyes on the floor, even as his hand reaches for the door, shaking as he barrels up the stairs, towards what he hopes are answers. Towards Mikey.

 

            Huffing, he slams open his brothers’ bedroom door to mild indignation, which he easily ignores in lieu of gasping, hands on his knees, chest heaving from his exertion. Mikey raises a skeptical brow.

 

            “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” Gerard wants to roll his eyes or throw an impressed scowl but he’s too focused on calming his racing pulse to grant an answer beyond casting his middle finger in the general direction of his brother. “Fuck you too.”

 

            “I need your help…I fucked up.” He’s still breathing harshly, hand pressing into his chest, looking for all the world like a heart attack victim reconsidering smoking like a fiend. Mikey continues staring, signaling Gerard to continue, sitting down at his desk. “You remember a couple of days ago when you found me in the dungeon?” At Mikey’s nod, Gerard stumbles, feeling his face flame in embarrassment and guilt. “I made a potion…it was supposed to be a love potion, and I may have used it on Frank tonight…” He clamps his eyes shut as though preparing for a reprimand. Peeking beneath a lid he finds Mikey frowning, still at his desk.

 

            “And? I mean, that’s kind of a dick move, but what? He’s in love with you now? Didn’t you want that?” Gerard shakes his head in despair, throwing himself, perhaps a bit dramatically, onto Mikey’s bed, arms flung despondently to the sides.

 

            “Something went wrong…the potion didn’t work properly…” He wants to hide, wants to crawl into a hole and die; the idea of telling Mikey what happened makes him want to throw up but he needs help, Frank’s counting on him figuring this out because Gerard screwed up. Taking a deep breath, he blurts out, “We had sex and I think he didn’t want it, the potion made him go crazy! He ripped off my clothes and it was really fucking hot, ya know, but-”

 

            “What the fuck!? Shut up! Ugh!” Gerard looks up to Mikey curled over his knees, hands clamped over his ears, scowling. “I don’t need the details, or the mental images you just scarred me with you jackass.” Gerard tries to look apologetic but he’s not quite sure he achieves it with all of the other guilt he’s already carrying. Mikey continues to scowl but he’s shuffling through papers on his desk, reaching for his bookshelf and pulling large volumes towards himself as he mutters under his breath, head shaking in what Gerard’s pretty sure is a mix between bewilderment and disgust. He waits quietly.

 

            “Ok, you need to get back down there because he probably shouldn’t be by himself or something, right?” Mikey’s engrossed in a large book, flipping rapidly through the pages as Gerard heaves himself reluctantly off of his brothers bed. He’s making his way out the door when Mikey tells him, “I’ll text you what I find, don’t come back up here.”

 

            Gerard lumbers back down the stairs, dread lacing each step, each thump of his heart as it races against his ribs; he can only imagine the state Frank will be in by the time he returns. He briefly envisions the teen foaming at the mouth, eyes red and dangerous. He cautiously pulls open the door to his bedroom, hand sliding along the rail as he lowers himself onto each step.      

 

            Frank’s practically writhing on the bed now, whimpering and clutching at the sheets, face screwed up in confusion and pain, even as his hips undulate upwards again. Gerard doesn’t know where it comes from, the strange confidence that creeps up on him as he makes his way across the room to the bed. He still feels guilty, disgusted with himself, but Frank needs him; his fingers drag up the boys thigh, coming to rest at his hipbone and Frank moans loudly at the touch, panting, sweat beading at his hairline.

 

            “Gee, please!” The plea sounds just as pained as it had when Gerard had left him and Gerard isn’t strong enough to deny himself or Frank any longer, fingers curling around the protruding bone even as his other hand reaches for his bedside drawer.

 

            “It’s ok Frankie, I’ve got you.” Pulling open the drawer, fingers curling around the slightly chilled silicone of his prize.  “I’ve got you.” He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, wonders if Frank can hear it too, as he’s dragging the blue dildo from the nightstand. He murmurs nonsense into Frank’s ear, fingers not wrapped around the toy circling around a nipple before tweaking it slightly, causing a gasp to fall from the boy’s parted lips.

 

            Gerard doesn’t want to tease, can only imagine what Frank must be feeling. It’s been almost three hours since Gerard dosed Frank, since it had taken effect and sent him writhing into Gerard’s lap; he can’t imagine being hard for that long, can’t imagine being out of control like that and not knowing why. Not knowing that it was Gerard who caused all of it.

 

            Releasing the nipple, he grabs for the lube, coating two fingers liberally before pressing between Frank’s parted thighs, Frank who is pushing back on the fingers, fucking himself on Gerard’s hand, mewling and begging and thrashing against the blankets, against Gerard.

 

            “Now! Now! Please Gee, please! Need it…” Frank groans, cutting himself off as he arches, hard, a hand scrabbling for Gerard’s forearms, nails scraping.

 

            Gerard nods like he understands; the dildo prepared and then he’s pressing it in as well, fingers sliding out alongside it, and Gerard knows that its probably too much, that he’s probably pushing Frank’s limits but the younger man screams and it sounds so good.

 

            “Perfect, Frankie. So hot.” Gripping tighter to the base of the toy, Gerard begins thrusting it inside, faster and faster, until Frank’s trembling around it, pushing back again, needy and desperate and lost. There’s sweat pooling on Frank’s chest, slicking his body and Gerard wants to taste, knows he won’t have another chance. Gerard wraps his free hand around Frank, jerking in time with the thrusts of the toy but the urge is still present, pressing on him, compelling him forwards like he’s the one who’s drugged.

 

            He doesn’t remember enveloping Frank’s dick with his lips but the taste of him is on his tongue, swirling around the head, pulling and savoring. Gerard knows Frank is close, can hear it in the incoherency, the babbling nonsense and the constant cries. He forces the toy faster, harder, sucks and pulls on his hand, urging Frank on, pushing towards the finish line, and then Frank’s screaming again, pulsing into Gerard’s mouth warm and bitter and long.

 

            Gerard swallows it all, licking his lips to chase the taste. He slows his hand, sliding the toy out as gently as possible. Frank’s whimper is barely audible but Gerard shushes him anyways, hand soothing circles on Frank’s hip until he quiets, shivers stilling, breath slowing until his eyes droop and then close. Gerard breathes. He sort of wants to cry, or throw up, anything to get the self-loathing and disgust off his skin, out of his head. Frank’s asleep, breathe even and slow. Gerard looks down to Frank’s lap to confirm he’s no longer hard. He knows his own relief shouldn’t be so all consuming; he wasn’t the one sporting the unstoppable erection.

 

            The chime of a bell jars him from his own personal reverie, forcing his arm beneath the pile of clothing at the side of his bed, fingers scrambling through the pockets of his jeans to locate his phone, praying that it’s Mikey with their miracle cure. Flipping open the screen, Gerard takes note of his brothers’ discovery.

 

            _“Pls tell me u didn’t add alcohol! Causes BAD side effects!”_ Gerard grimaces, head dropping to his hands. His phone buzzes again. “ _Shud wear off in a few hrs. Get him 2 sleep if u can.”_ Gerard concedes that at least he had managed that feat on his own; he wants to rage and cry and flop into his bed and stay there for eternity but the boy passed out beside him prevents him from engaging in any of those options. He settles for making elaborate plans of avoidance and full on denial, considers researching out of the way coffee shops where no one would know him, at least until he graduates and moves out of the city.

 

            Gerard’s unsure how much time has passed when Frank starts to shift; he’s idly flipping through the contents page of his textbook, contemplating disfiguring himself or perhaps undergoing some physical transformation drastic enough to render him completely unrecognizable. The groan that grounds itself past Frank’s throat has Gerard sliding off the bed into the desk chair, putting as much space between them as possible, glancing up at the younger boy through the hair falling over his eyes, apprehensive and prepared for the absolute worst.

 

            Frank’s eyes are sort of fluttering open as though his body protests alertness, struggling to keep him unconscious; Gerard thinks it’s adorable, at least until Frank manages to pry them open, staring around in obvious confusion, trying to piece together the where, what, and who. Realization hits as he catches Gerard’s eye, memories flooding back in fast forward; skin and lips and hands everywhere, throwing himself at Gerard with complete abandon. He realizes he’s still staring at the older boy several minutes too late, ripping his eyes to the ground instead as his cheeks flame.

 

            All he can think is ‘I fucked this up’ and it makes his throat feel tight in the way it does when he’s getting sick, tickling and closing up a bit so swallowing is something he has to consciously put effort into. He chances a glance up at Gerard to find him staring still, eyes too big, lips pursed. He coughs to clear his throat.

 

            “Was I asleep long?” His face feels like it’s on fire, burning away the skin to leave only the bone beneath, fingers raking through the short hair at his neck. He keeps his eyes firmly on the floor, mentally planning his escape route when Gerard finally freaks out.

           

            “Uh…no, I don’t think so…” Frank nods in understanding, trying to unobtrusively spy his clothes, even as recollections of ridding himself and Gerard of the garments play themselves for him. “Listen, Frank…” The younger boy shakes his head quickly, panic rising in his chest, up his throat to choke him; Gerard continues unaware. “What happened before, I mean, it was totally my fault, and I understand if you never want to see me or speak to me again because I was a total asshole and you didn’t deserve that, and I know that you probably hate me right now, and you have every right! I hate me right now! I’m so sorry, and I know that’s not enough to make it right, but I want you to know.” He rushes on, hands flapping even as he keeps his eyes anywhere but on the boy before him. “I just thought that maybe if I could make you fall in love with me, even for a little bit, you’d wanna spend more time together and then maybe we could actually make something of this, because I think you’re really fucking amazing and really, I just wanted to have a chance with you! I just wanted to make it work, but instead I fucked it up because that’s what I do. I should have read the instructions and the warnings, but that’s usually what Mikey does for me, and he couldn’t because I didn’t tell him what I was doing, and then I thought, hey! If we’re both a little drunk, maybe things’ll go down easier, ya know, only that made it so much worse because apparently you can’t mix the potion with fucking alcohol!” Gerard chances a look up at Frank who’s folded his arms across his bare chest, brow furrowed and expression unreadable; Gerard hurries on in dread. “This is why I’m failing! Because I never stop to finish reading! Because I never really pay attention! My potions master always says that I don’t pay attention, and I really tried with the whole Love Potion thing, I swear! I’m sure that I did the potion perfectly but of course I couldn’t fucking read the warnings so I still fucked it up!”

 

            “Are you a wizard?” Gerard looks up in shock at the interruption, hands falling limply to his lap, head nodding slowly in confirmation - they breathe in unison for a moment before Frank grins. “Sweet.” Gerard stares for several beats, Frank’s exclamation ringing through his ears as he tries to comprehend its meaning.      

 

            And then Frank starts laughing, wheezing and choking with it, doubled over his knees, high pitched giggles curving around the room until it too is reverberating inside Gerard. The older boy is at a complete loss as he continues to stare at Frank, snorting and wiping at his eyes as he tries to contain himself within the hysteria that had taken him over.

 

            Gerard waits patiently, wondering if perhaps this was yet another side effect, if he should get his brother, if Frank might be losing his mind.

 

            Frank shakes his head, shoulders still shaking slightly beneath the laughter that has mostly died down. He grins again at the older boy, eyes alight with the amusement that still seems to rattle around the room.

 

            “You **_really_** didn’t need the potion dude.” 


End file.
